


Blackwater Blues

by sheriffbucky (pluckybucky)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 21:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluckybucky/pseuds/sheriffbucky
Summary: His mother said, right before she died, not for her boy to taste a lick of whiskey while she was still alive. Jack sighs, and wraps his lips around the bottle again.





	Blackwater Blues

_Head hurts._ His head hurts, and everything’s spinning in this rotten bar. He remembers his family, the ones who were fun drunk, howling with laughter and lovebugs. Now, he’s their age, and everything he thought about getting drunk was absolute dogshit, because he’s miserable. Everything is still spinning in this rotten bar, crowded with the lowest of the low, scumbags and douchebags alike, and Jack Marston wasn’t any different.

     His mother said, right before she died, not for her boy to taste a lick of whiskey while she was still alive. Jack sighs, and wraps his lips around the bottle again, and lowering it to the table with a thud. He holdshis hand over his eyes, because to him, it’s too bright. He had already let out his tears, and now he has no more to give. He feels like his father, and that isn’t a good feeling at all.

     He’s 19, and already drinking like a middle-aged sailor overseas. Maybe it’s to be expected, he supposes, he’s lost his family, has no motives, can’t farm, and shit, his best friend is a dog. A lawyer, his mother said, a goddamn lawyer, and with the drunk sting in his head, even hearing the ‘law’ in ‘lawyer’ on his tongue makes him sick. He hears law, and he sees injustice, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, it’s not fair, he’ll scream, it’s not fair. The law, the people who are supposed to keep you safe, are just as trigger-happy as the son of bitches robbing good people. They’ll say they’re protecting you, then when pressure is up, they’re all too keen on turning the gun against you, against Pa.

     And now, he’s here, head hurting and drowning in this rotten bar. He does this often, a trip to the Blackwater saloon to wallow in his own pity, he's just about made a name for himself, he’ll get dirty glances from the patrons, he’ll get a patronizing eye from the bartenders, it’s all the same to him. They wouldn’t get it, he forces himself to believe, and so he never opens up.

 

     “Son,” A man says, voice gruff. Jack doesn’t catch his face. “Don’t you think you’ve had _enough?_ ” The man asks.

 

     What Jack means to say is, “Now, I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”, but instead he says; “Naw.” slurred speech and all. Jack hangs his head low, his family heirloom shadowing most of his face from public view.

 

     The man places a large hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack suddenly tenses up. What should be a comforting act, is anything but to Jack. “Ain’t you got a life to get back to, son? Instead of wastin’ away. How old are ‘ya?”

 

     “Nuthin’. I ain’t nuthin’, ‘n quit botherin’ me.” Jack stutters and stammers on his words, but his intent is clear. His grip on the neck of his bottle only tightens as the man’s grip on his shoulder leaves. He doesn’t turn to see if the man’s left, because he knows he’s still there, behind him. “I don’t mean anythin’ rude against you, son. Just tryin’ to offer a kind hand. You oughta run home now, bet your mama’s real worried about you runnin’ off to get drunk alone.” The man holds nothing but sincerity, and that pisses Jack off.

 

     And then, Jack isn’t too sure what happens next, only that his body does the talking, and with his hand on the neck of his bottle, he finally turns to the man, puts his free hand on the man’s shoulder, and smashes the glass against the stranger’s skull, cheap beer spattering across his shirt. The man tumbles to the ground, holding his glass infused skull, and Jack simply stumbles back, hand instinctively reaching to support himself on the table he started at.

 

     The patrons, all wide-eyed and stupid, take that one altercation as a sign to follow in Jack’s footsteps, and begin wailing on each other. The saloon erupts into utter chaos, as bottles are thrown, shattered, and men are punching, hitting and kicking each other like children. Jack is grabbed by the bandana, and thrown back, stumbling and landing roughly against the wooden floor, surrounded by the clambering boots of sorry men. He’s grabbed and brought back up to his feet, eyes meeting with one of the hammered men. He readies his fists, but Jack realizes just how shitty it is to be drunk, because before he could even attempt to block any damage, the patron sends a heavy fist against Jack’s nose, and Jack lets out a loud scream as he definitely feels some sort of crunch.

 

     He stumbles backwards, holding his nose in his hands, blood already starting to gush. He growls, and attempts to ambush the man, but one bump at the hip from another man, and Jack’s trajectory is off, and he tumbles to the ground, hat fumbling off his head and onto the floor nearby, surely to be stepped on. Spinning, spinning and more spinning, it takes his eyesight awhile to adjust, the constant stomping of men drowning into white noise. He attempts to push himself up, but a kick to the head ain’t gonna let that happen, and that’s just what happens, a large boot coming out of the blue to slam itself against the side of Jack’s face. He keels over to the side, letting out a groan. God, if only he had drunk more, then maybe this’d be numb to him. In reality, the sharp pain in his face is unbearable, and he feels the drip of blood down his nose, and into his mouth, the taste coppery. He turns himself over, onto his back, and lays there, as the swarming boots drown out any other noise.

 

     A gunshot rings through the bar, loud and clear, shutting up the hollering men for good. It’s the bartender, who should’ve taken a job in security with the amount of people he hauls around. The shotgun in his hands, pointed up at the ceiling, no doubt damaged the wooden roof. He shouts at the men to all disperse, and get the fuck outta his sight. One by one, the men disperse, pained and grumbling, with several just simply on the floor, out cold.

 

     Jack covers his eyes with his hand, letting out a drawn out sigh. The shoes of something blurry approaches him, and Jack feels a tense, large hand around the fabric of his shirt, and suddenly he’s being pulled up to his feet, with no second to recollect, being pushed, pushed, and pushed. His feet can barely keep up.

 

     “What are ‘ya doin, git ‘yer **fuckin’** hands ‘offa me!” Jack shrieks, voice cracking on the _‘hands’_.

 

     Jack squints his eyes, focusing on the tall man rushing him. It’s the bartender, rough and tough. The bartender has also seemed to have grabbed Jack’s hat on the way out, with it being no worse for wear in his tight grasp.

 

     “You keep doin’ this, kid,” The Bartender says, “You keep doin’ this and I’ll be lookin’ the other way when somebody finally puts a bullet in ‘ya.”

 

     The boy glares, and grumbles, running his sleeve over his nose, sure to dirty it up with blood. “Wasn’t my fault. Guy was askin’ ‘fer it.” Jack strains. The Bartender doesn’t buy it, and continues pushing. “If ‘yer gonna keep doin’ this shit, you oughta just find another god damn bar. I don’t need you rilin’ up my guests.”

 

     At the entrance of the saloon doors, the bartender gently places Jack’s hat onto Jack’s unwashed hair, and forcefully shoves Jack forward. “Now scram,” he says, “And think about what I said.”

 

     Jack waves him off, or flips him off. Same difference. He stumbles forward, brushing himself off, takes a few steps onto the muddy soil of Blackwater, and keels over, letting himself fall right onto the ground, and hoping, for the last few seconds of conscience, he wont wake up, but some part of him knows, there ain't no escaping this life.


End file.
